Once Upon a December
by headlesshessian
Summary: Alfred's always felt the need to record any and all events that happen whenever Toris visits, for some reason. This journal records the ones of December 1992. T for a few bad words.


_December 1, 1992, 2:46 PM_

So. A journal.

This is all Iggy's fault. He brought it with him when he came for Thanksgiving; and the second I told him Lithuania was coming back to visit for a month or so he practically shoved it at me like it was on fire.

_"I read a few entries of those journals you kept back in the thirties. Don't deny that you would have gone out and bought another one anyway because he's coming here again."_

And I totally would have been annoyed at his cryptic-ness if he hadn't had that sort of sad-ish smile on his face and was looking down a little in a way that usually means he's a bit wistful.

Sometimes, I think England can be really deep.

And then he starts talking about flying mint bunnies, and I'm completely lost.

Anyways, I'm waiting for Toris to get off the plane, since his flight came in 15 minutes ago. He's here because-oh! There he is now! More later, I suppose.

* * *

_December 1, 1992, 5:24 PM_

Toris is just a little bit broken.

...OK, scratch that, he's a lot broken, if that makes any sense. Iggy would murder me for that "atrocious grammar," but you get my point, right? Great, I'm getting back into the habit of referring to a bunch of papers as though they're a real person. Ugh. Whatever. Back to Toris.

He's in my kitchen now. I mean, I invited him over to my place at the last world meeting, and it's just come together now, because things over there have calmed down enough for him to be able to leave. My boss was cool with it, and he talked with Liet's bosses, and they wanted him to relax for a bit because he totally deserves it.

(Plus, I overheard my boss's end of the conversation, and the words "overworked," "stressed," and "exhausted" were repeated several times.)

So, I was all ready to just let Toris crash in the guest room (that, if I'm going to be honest, has been "Toris' room" since 1923), but he walked in, dropped his bags, and declares that my place is a pigsty! Legit! A pigsty!

...OK, so he didn't actually say that, but it was totally implied.

But then he smiled and called me "Amerika" in that accent and my resolve to drag him out of the kitchen and make him rest just sort of... crumbled.

_"__Mano __Amerika__, what have you been doing since I left?"_

That's what he said, and then he smiled, and I kind of blanked out for a few seconds and then I told him _not much_ and then I just smiled back.

(But then I looked in the mirror and realized that the last time I looked that high was at Woodstock, so I stopped and picked up this. Er, you. Journal. Whatever.)

Crap! He's calling me over! Be right back.

Back! OK. So I think I might have screwed up a little. Just a little, mind you. So what Toris said was, "If you're not going to help me clean, at least get me a cloth and some cleaning fluid so I can do it properly for you."

So I laughed and said something like, "Whatever you want, babe," and laughed a little more when I noticed he was blushing. (What? It was soooo cuuuute! ...Oh, God, bad Alfred. Your severely traumatized friend is not cute. Not cute at all.)

Anyways, I gave him a cloth and watched him wet it (it was one of the old ones I keep around for cleaning, well, when Iggy comes in and can't help himself from cleaning for me), and then he looked over at me and was all, "So am I getting that cleaner any time this year?"

And I kind of blanked out again and just walked over and pulled him into a hug before I knew what I was doing. He squeaked. I mean, he was like, "eep!" and then he sort of relaxed and just leaned against me. (Also soooo cuuuute! Damn, I did it again. Bad Alfred! Bad!)

So I told him (told, not whined, mind you), "Toooooris, I didn't have you here to make you work! I had you here so you could relax!"

And now here's the part where I screwed up a little bit.

Before I really thought about what I was saying, (this seems to happen to me a lot, actually), I said, "You don't have to _work_ here, Liet, this isn't…"

I didn't actually _say_ "Russia's place," but judging by the way he tensed up in my arms, we both knew what would have come next. I did that open-mouth-close-mouth thing where you know you need to say something but you aren't sure how to phrase it, and just when I was about to apologize for bringing it up, he looked up at me (and I realized he has really, really pretty eyes, though that isn't the point), and he smiled and touched my cheek. I think I blushed, 'cause he smiled a little wider and then he spoke.

"Hey. I'm doing this because I _want_ to, not because I _have_ to. Okay?"

I gotta admit, it was pretty funny to hear the "hey" and the "okay" in his Lithuanian accent.

Anyways, I tried to reply, but all I could come up with was another open-close-mouth maneuver. He patted my cheek, and then he ducked out of my arms and picked up the cloth again.

And then I got him the cleaning fluid.

I think it might have been Windex.

Whatever.

* * *

_December 4, 1992, 4:23 AM_

I have no clue what I'm going to do.

No clue at all.

OK, so I'll start from the beginning, which was like, an hour ago or something. So I woke up and realized two things: One, I had to pee. Two, I was thirsty. And no, I have no clue how those can occur at the same time, but whatever.

I answered Nature's call first, then headed down to the kitchen to get a drink, but before I did that I decided to check up on Toris, 'cause his room is right down the hall from mine and on the way to the kitchen. I opened the door _reeeeeally_ quietly and then I kind of stopped when I saw him and… I dunno. Looked at him for a minute there? ("Admired him" sounds like a term from some sappy romance novel.)

Anyways, he had rolled over to face the window, and he had opened the curtains for some reason, so I could see that and the fact that his sheets were tangled around his legs, like usual. (He told me way back in the '30s that he was a restless sleeper unless he had someone else in bed with him, and it was obviously still true.)

But I really had the urge to just touch him, to make sure he wasn't dead or something, (though that was ridiculous; our kind don't die in our sleep, ever), and because of the moonlight shining on him I could see that he looked more peaceful than I had ever seen him awake. The way the moonlight shone on his hair was giving me a really hard time about resisting touching his hair (what? It's really, really silky and I swear that if he ever needs some extra cash he could easily land a part in a L'Oreal ad), so in order to avoid temptation I just decided to leave him to his (hopefully) peaceful dreams.

Two glasses of water and a midnight hamburger later, I headed back upstairs. Passing Toris' room again, I heard the very worrisome noises of sheets rustling, bedsprings creaking, and whimpering. Being the hero that I am, I decided to check in on Toris again, just in case he was having nightmares.

Note to self: In the future, invest in furniture for guest bedrooms that does not have sharp corners.

I quietly opened the door and saw that poor Toris was indeed having a nightmare. Obviously, I wasn't going to let him continue! I mean, heroes don't do that kind of thing! So I leaned over Toris and attempted to _gently_ shake him awake. Unfortunately, he didn't wake gently.

My poor (no, not mine, idiot) Liet jolted awake with a cry, saw my silhouette, and threw himself off the bed, cracking his head against the sharp corner of the nightstand.

In the moonlight, I could see his features twisted into this horrible combination of terror and pain (I hope he never looks like that ever again) and he began to shake like a leaf (or Latvia on a good day). And he began to beg, first in what I could tell was Lithuanian, and then he abruptly switched to Russian. I tried to calm him down by talking, but it didn't work at first.

"Liet, Liet, Lietuva, it's me, you're here, you're safe…"

But it was only when I stepped into the moonlight and he could see clearly that it was me that he calmed down. Cautiously, I pulled him into a hug, stroking his hair with one hand. And then I felt something wet on my fingers. I pulled back.

"Oh, God, Toris! You're bleeding!"

And then he said one of the saddest things I've heard in a while.

"I-I'm s-sorry if I've c-created a m-mess, Mr. America."

I said something along the lines of, "A_ mess?_ You're _bleeding_ and you're worried about making a _mess?"_

And then he started babbling about blood on the carpets and that he'd clean it and I just pulled him close, grabbed some clothes, and drove us to the hospital.

So here I am, sitting in the waiting room as Toris is getting examined, and wondering how the heck I'm supposed to fix him if he doesn't think he need fixing.

* * *

_December 5, 1992, around 3 PM._

He had no concussion, just a major contusion (that's medical talk for bruise) and since the cut was shallow he didn't need any stitches. He was ridiculously pleased that he had nurses didn't cut his hair (and so was I, seeing as it would be a waste to cut the hair shampoo commercials would envy). And as of right now, he's asleep on his borrowed writing desk and _thisclose_ to drooling on one of the reports his boss faxed to him.

I should go stop him from doing so. Be right back.

Back! If I know Toris Laurinaitis, and I think I do, I'm pretty sure he'd be annoyed at himself when he woke up and found some (probably important) paperwork ruined. He'd be pretty cute when he did so, though… like how he was now all sleepy and confused…

…great, and I'm thinking of Toris as cute again. This does not bode well for the rest my afternoon.

I really shouldn't be thinking of Toris as attractive. I mean, he is, but… he totally doesn't need any… _romance_ (God I feel like such a teenage girl) right now.

Yesterday morning, he was practically jumping at every shadow that moved. If a pigeon took flight as we walked by, he would curl into my side, then immediately pull away and apologize for doing so. Eventually, I just pulled him close to my side and ignored his complaints all the way back to the car. He's much calmer today, but that may be because we fell asleep on the couch together last night after a movie.

I think I could get used to waking up next to him.

…Oh God, I'm in deep, aren't I?

…Don't answer that.

* * *

_December 7, 1992, 8:19 AM._

And suddenly, the roles have been reversed. Sort of.

(look, I'm being cryptic! And Iggy always said that I couldn't pull it off! Ha!)

Anyways, one of the downsides to being a country is being able to remember every horrible event in your history. Especially if you were there. (It was a routine check on the ships, that's the only reason I was even _in _Pearl Harbor.)

Weirdly enough, it's the only event that I have regular, yearly, nightmare-flashbacks of. (The other ones aren't really regular, I just have nightmares of them now and then. Rarely. And I'm never scared because that isn't heroic. Honest.)

Well, I'm not gonna give you the gory details (I'm sparing you here, not myself, duh), but the smoke was getting thicker and thicker and I was beginning to cough when I was shaken out of it. Still pretty dazed, I blinked a few times before finally realizing that it was Toris who was above me, looking really worried.

"Alfred? Alfred! Alfred, are you alright?" He was biting his bottom lip and his hand was outstretched like he was about to stroke my hair or face but decided against it. His accent was much thicker as well, and I couldn't decide if it was funny or cute.

(Bad Alfred! He is not cute! Well, he is but you should not be thinking about it!)

I slurred something like "'M okay, Liet, don' worry," and he smiled in relief, grabbed my hand and gently squeezed it.

"Is there anything you need? Warm milk, more blankets?" he asked, concern once again taking over his expression. I'm not sure how I got the courage or irrationality to do this, (maybe because I was still half-asleep?) but I pulled him down next to me, wrapped my arms around him, and muttered, "stay."

And he did. When I woke up, he was still curled into my arms, hair mussed and PJs rumpled, but a faint smile on his lips. It was adorable, no lie. (And no denial of that, in case you hadn't noticed.) And for some reason, he smells a little like coffee. And that ain't a bad thing, because coffee is delicious.

We talked a little about his "stay" (read: forced residency) at Russia's house over breakfast. It was pretty minor stuff (the décor, the library, etc), but I personally think that even though he may have nightmares still, he's healed at least _a little._ But I still don't want to do or say anything about that communist bastard if I can help it.

I mean, his pajamas are pretty thin. I can feel his spine through them if I run my hand down his back, and if I rub his shoulders (in a completely friendly non-perverted way, I assure you) (great, I'm talking to some paper like a real person again), I can feel the scars.

Lithuania-_Toris_- has enough reminders, I think.

* * *

_December 10, 1992, 2:17 PM_

My boss just said it's going to snow, hard. He's going on about blizzard preparations (New England states, stop exchanging bored looks with the Northern Midwest just because y'all deal with this every year) and the homeless (you _should_ look worried, New York, same to you Pennsylvania, and _put the goddamn nail polish away California I don't give a shit that there are no weather issues in LA_), and frankly, I'm not paying that much attention to him because I can get a recap from the Veep later.

And all this talk about snow has got me thinking that I'll take Toris down South.

(Oh God that sounds so wrong in so many ways! Crap!)

I didn't mean it in that way! Gah, stop! Damn you, mental images! Damn you! OhGodOhGodOhGod Toris would not do that to me, I would not do that to Toris, no matter how hot it would be if- Shit, now my boss is looking at me funny…

Why the fuck am I writing this down where someone could find it and read it? I need some alcohol. Or coffee. Or a mix of the two. I'm gonna go get some now, actually. Brb.

Back. If Toris ever finds this, I deny ever writing this. YA HEAR ME, LIET? THIS IS NOT ALFRED F. JONES WRITING THIS. GOT IT? GOOD.

Ahem. Anyways, thinking about snow. Russia's house is perpetually covered in the stuff, right? (Don't contradict me; it should be even if it isn't.) So, my poor little Liet is probably sick of the stuff after being trapped in a frozen wasteland full of it for a few decades. (Don't worry, Alaska, I still love you.) So snow would probably be a bit of a stress trigger? I dunno. Besides, Toris is only here through New Years!

So we'll have to-

Shit, I think my boss just asked me a question… Nah, just imagining things; Tempe answered whatever it was. (Thanks, 'Nettie, I owe ya one.)

Well, I think I'll take him to Florida.

No innuendoes, please.

Because- noooo, boss, don't take this notebo-

* * *

_December 10, 1992, 7:34 PM_

Toris is in the kitchen cooking dinner (Pasta; Italy would approve) and I'm going to recap what happened after my boss stole this. You. Journal. Whatever!

Anyways, my boss grabbed this (you?) out of my hands, briefly scanned over the entries, raised an eyebrow (God, I hate it when he does that; I always end up feeling like a dumbass), and tossed you (this?) back to me.

We have an unspoken agreement never to speak of this ever again.

(At least, I sincerely hope we're never speaking of this again…that would be awkward.)

The fact remains, I'm going to "kidnap" Toris one morning before it snows and take him down to Florida.

No, I am NOT blushing.

What I was gonna say earlier (before my boss stole this) was that if snow brings back bad memories, it would be a good idea to whisk Toris away to a place with no snow. (And a very heroic idea as well, if I do say so myself!)

Plus, who doesn't like palm trees?

* * *

_December 13, 1992, 8:42 AM_

I'm in a cab on my way to work right now, but there are two things that I think I should write down.

First, the lovely dream I had last night of Toris coming into my room and (cutely and embarrassedly) asking if he could sleep with me because of nightmares wasn't actually a dream! I found that out when I woke up to a warm Lithuanian cuddled into my side (though that explains why I was so nice and warm…)

Note to self: body heat is a good excuse to get Toris in your bed again.

Oh, and the second thing; they say it'll snow tomorrow. So my bags are packed and in the trunk of my car, and if I wake up early and see snow, I'll just pick up Toris and put him in the passenger seat of my car, and by the time he wakes up we should be in South Carolina!

This plan is practically foolproof!

(Stop being so skeptical. I know what I'm doing. Geez.)

* * *

_December 14, 1992, 5:53 AM_

So…

My "practically foolproof" plan…

Well, no use beating around the bush; it was a failure of epic proportions. I think it ended well anyways though.

See, it all started last night. My amazing plan needed just a few small, minor things to happen for it to actually work.

Like getting Liet to sleep next to me, for one.

…OK, so maybe that one wasn't really _minor_, but I still managed to pull it off! My first idea was to watch a movie in my bedroom, but when we got up there, Toris completely bypassed my DVD collection and saw the old Cathedral radio I keep there. (It occasionally picks up some AM stations, which is pretty cool.) And after noticing that, he immediately saw my Victrola, which I keep next to it.

So you're probably wondering why the Cathedral radio was such a big deal. But! You forget, young grasshopper, that Liet was here in the 20's and 30's to work for me. And sometimes, after a long day, I'd put on some music-we used that radio back then-and there was a station that played swing music like 24/7.

And I taught him how to dance on that old thing, so that's probably the reason Toris practically beamed as soon as he saw all the swing records right by the Victrola.

"I… I remember this," he murmured, brushing a hand over the top of it almost reverently and smiling gently. I came up behind him and subtly (yes, it was subtle! Quit doubting me!) draped an arm around his waist.

"You remember when I taught you how to dance?" I asked, knowing full well he did.

He laughed a little and looked up at me with those large olive eyes. "How could I have forgotten?"

In a burst of inspiration (or insanity), I grabbed the first record (Gershwin, you have yet to fail me) and put it on the Victrola. The second it began to play, I grabbed Toris and we danced! We were both a little rusty, but by the time we got to "I Got Rhythm," we were both back in the 20s together and laughing at each other's idiotic attempts at the Charleston.

And that's how the evening went. It was a ton of fun! I think we ended up flopping down on my bed and going to sleep from there.

It was only in the morning that my ingenious plan ran into trouble.

I woke up at the appointed time (4:30 AM, courtesy of my alarm clock), cooed at Toris to go back to sleep, and (with great fanfare, I might add) drew my curtains so I could see my balcony.

It had most definitely snowed, and it was very pretty with everything coated in a layer of the fluffy white stuff and illuminated by the fluorescent orange streetlights. The same orange reflected off Toris' hair, giving the silky brown a weird orangey sheen.

So the second I went to grab my shoes (front hall, where I kicked them off), I guess Toris woke up, because I came back to the sight of him sitting up on my bed, backlit by my snowy backyard.

I was sort of shocked into not moving, because all I could do was stare as he got out of bed and walked over to my balcony, delicately pressing a hand to the glass of the door. He said something, or maybe he just sighed, but whatever it was, his breath fogged up the glass and he chuckled a little when it showed a smiley face that I had drawn on it the last time the windows fogged up.

"Lietuva," I said quietly, chagrined, "You're not supposed to be awake!"

Toris turned around and raised an eyebrow. "And why is that, _Amerika_?"

I think I paled or did something to display my sudden… _distress_, because Toris immediately stopped smiling and took several steps towards me.

"Alfred? Alfred, what's wr-"

I cut him off. "You weren't supposed to be awake! That wasn't part of the plan!" I then immediately clapped a hand over my mouth, feeling incredibly stupid for revealing that little tidbit of information.

Toris was remarkably calm about finding out he was part of a grand plan, though. "What plan are you talking about, America?"

(Alright, so when he deliberately calls me America instead of Alfred I know he's kind of pissed.)

So… It all came out. I told him the whole thing: how I thought he needed help and rest; how I wanted to protect him and help him, and everything about Florida and the snow and when I was done he literally just stared at me in silence for a good thirty seconds.

Then he walked over to me and grabbed my hand and we walked over to my balcony. He dropped my hand and unlatched the doors, and both of us flinched when the cold air hit us, seeing as our pajamas were not designed to survive December outdoors. He walked into the snow (we have a good six inches and it's still going like it was then) with bare feet, and then he turned around and stretched both his hands out to me.

"Come here, Alfred." He was smiling a little, and I figured that meant he wasn't gonna push me off the balcony, so I stepped forwards and took his hands, ignoring the way the bottoms of my pajama pants got soaked almost instantly. He tugged me forwards, and then he turned so both of us were looking out over the neighborhood.

"All of this-" he gestured to the DC area, "-is a part of you, correct?"

"Yeah," I replied, not seeing where he was going.

"And the people who walk upon the land, and sweat in the summer and bundle up in the winter-they're part of you too?"

I was confused. "Yeah, they are. But what-"

"And the way they handle the weather, you do too?"

"Yeah…"

"Like the business people who will curse at the traffic?" I laughed, seeing the picture he was painting.

"Yeah! But also the little kids who will have so much fun building snowmen, or having snowball fights, or making snow angels, or…" I trailed off; Liet was smiling affectionately up at me in a way I couldn't completely decipher.

"And that's pretty universal; all children do that, right?"

I openly gaped at him. "What are you getting at here?"

He shook his head slightly, dispelling a few snowflakes. "All children do that. American children, Lithuanian children…" He looked out into the snow, an odd expression on his face, "…Russian children."

We both stayed quiet for a few seconds, before Toris cleared his throat, smiling slightly again. "What I'm trying to say is that as much as the snow is a part of Ivan, it's a part of you and me as well. And I can't really hate something that is such a big part of myself, right?"

I continued to gape at him and his smile faded a little, and he waved his hand in front of my face. I didn't respond.

And then Toris Laurinaitis kissed me.

He pulled back after a second and started stammering apologies; stuff like "I'm sorry if I misread your intentions, but I just thought-"

And then I kissed him.

When I pulled back, he was blushing and smiling and I _had_ to kiss him again. It was the stuff Hollywood movies are made of.

And then a breeze blew and we both remembered that we were standing on a balcony in the snow in very thin clothing. So we went back inside and cuddled up in bed, and my other arm is numb because Toris fell asleep on it, but I'm not moving it because he's smiling in his sleep again and it's _adorable._

And one of my boss's secretaries just called and told me I have the day off, so when I'm done writing this I'm gonna go join Toris in dreamland.

It's gonna be a good day and it's only six in the morning.

The rest of December is gonna _rock._

_fin._

_

* * *

_I'm usually a USUK fan, I swear. I don't know where all this AmericaLithuania stuff is coming from. Anyways, I wrote this back in November or December and found it in my flashdrive the other day, so I decided to post it. Not much else to say about this.

Oh, and Tempe/'Nettie is a reference to my OC Connecticut, named Temperance (hence the nicknames of Tempe and 'Nettie). (because you totally wanted to know that and couldn't figure it out on your own... *cringes*)


End file.
